


Morgue Confessions

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 3 compliant, Sherlock has a revelation, more tags to be added later, rated for smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've had this sitting in my drafts for a while and I think I'm ready to drop chapter 1.  It started as a one-shot but most of my fics do.  There's at least three in here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One of the reasons Molly liked working overnights in the morgue was how quiet it was. Tonight it was not only quiet, it was slow; she’d finished her last autopsy an hour ago and now she was swiftly and efficiently getting caught up on filing, her soft steps making almost no noise as she moved from filing cabinet to filing cabinet. 

She used to hate these sorts of nights. Too much time to get lost in her own head, in her thoughts. The years Sherlock were gone were the worst; she would spend an entire shift wondering where he was that night, if he were safe. Now that he was back, she worried less, especially now that the fake-Moriarty situation was dealt with, Mary and John were happily raising little Samantha, and Sherlock was, to her knowledge, mostly staying out of trouble.

Of course Sherlock would never totally stay out of trouble, it wasn’t in his nature. But after the mess with Magnusson (he’d finally told her that story, perched on one of the stools here in the morgue, as she closed up a body she’d just finished) he had at least returned to traditional levels of Sherlock trouble, which meant he only occasionally showed up at her doorstep in the middle of the night needing stitches or someone to stay awake with him because he’d managed to get another concussion. John, he said, got little enough sleep with a “squalling infant” at home, he didn’t need to babysit Sherlock, too.

But it was March, and she could feel spring returning, and life was pretty steady and calm, just the way she liked it, if she were to admit it to herself. 

She slid a few more documents into the filing cabinet, shaking her head. It was the 21st century, why on earth were they keeping paper copies of everything? Upper management’s fear of technology just added workload to everyone else.

It was so silent in the morgue that she heard the footsteps in the hallway before the person making them made it to the door. She turned, and was watching as Sherlock Holmes swept into the lab. She glanced at her watch.

“Sherlock, it’s 3:00 am and there’s nothing going on here. Is there a body on the way?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. I couldn’t sleep.”

Molly rolled her eyes and turned back to the filing cabinet. “I can unlock the lab for you if you want.”

“Want…” said Sherlock, trailing off. Molly ignored him, continuing to file. Sherlock did this; he’d figure out what he wanted eventually. Sometimes he’d show up, pester her for ten minutes, and then leave again, with no indication of why he’d been there in the first place. She was used to it, and didn’t let it bother her anymore. Sherlock was Sherlock, and there was no point in trying to decipher his actions.

She shoved the last file back into the cabinet and turned around. “Right, well, that’s done. I’m going back to my office, there’s nothing more for me to do here, but I’m not off duty til 5. Hopefully no other bodies will come in before then.”

She turned to collect her phone, which she’d left on a counter, and moved towards the other door, the one that led down the short hall to the morgue staff offices. Sherlock padded along behind her, silently. She let him step past her once she left the morgue, then made sure the door clicked shut behind them. He made his way down to her office, waiting for her to swipe her keycard and then pushing it open once it unlocked.

Throwing himself down on the sofa she often napped on during double shifts, he sighed and pulled off his scarf, draping it over his chest and looking up at Molly, who stood next to her desk, watching him.

“What?” he said.

“What, what?” said Molly, shaking her head. “I work here. You’re the one just...loitering.”

Sherlock smiled and sat up against the arm of the sofa, long legs stretched out to the other end. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you said,” said Molly, sitting down in her office chair and swiveling around to face him. 

“I had a dream,” said Sherlock, staring up at the ceiling. “Did you know there are approximately 300 divots in each of your ceiling tiles?”

Molly glanced up, momentarily confused. “Are these things related?”

“No, not really. I just...well, you know how my brain is. Anyway, I had a dream.”

“Was it a bad dream?” asked Molly, concerned. “Moriarty? Magnusson?”

Sherlock slowly turned his head to look at Molly. “No. It was not a bad dream. It was about you.”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Me?”

“Mm, yes. You. And me. We were doing...things.”

Molly swallowed, suddenly unable to find her voice. After a moment she looked back up at the ceiling. “Um...things?”

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes. “Things. Salacious things. Naughty things.” he opened his eyes, meeting hers. “Sexual things.”

Molly glanced around the room, trying to pull herself together. While she was over her schoolgirl crush on Sherlock, there was no denying the man was attractive. There was no denying she often thought of him as she lay in bed, hands in her knickers, lulling herself to sleep with an orgasm or two. But still…

“Well, er, people have dreams. It’s not uncommon to dream about...friends...that way. I’m sure your brain was just…”

Sherlock cut her off. “My brain was just trying to tell me something I’ve been denying for a while, Molly. I woke up, and I couldn’t sleep because I realized that I couldn’t keep lying to myself.”

Molly pushed the chair backwards until she bumped into her desk, away from Sherlock, away from the 3am confessions spilling out of his mouth. Away from hearing words she had given up on hearing, away from words that couldn’t possibly be true.

“Sherlock, this isn’t funny. I’m at work, it’s 3am, and whatever you’re up to, I don’t have the time or the mental energy to deal with it right now. If you just came down here to fuck with me…” she trailed off, realizing her choice of words. “Well, you know what I mean. I don’t have time for your games.”

“I think you’d rather like some of my games,” he said, smiling predatorily at her. “But as far as ‘fucking with you’, no, Molly, I’m dead serious. I’ve often thought that you and I were the perfect match for each other. I’ve just been...distracted these last few years. First with Moriarty, then I was gone, then there was the bit with Magnusson, and it took the last few months being relatively quiet for me to realize that if I didn’t say something, there’d be some other huge emergency and then I’d use that as an excuse to not come and talk to you about this. And then I woke up in the middle of the night after dreaming about you and I knew you were here and so I’m finally here to tell you that I care about you, Molly. A lot. And not like I care about John, or Mary, or anyone else. I want you to be mine.”

She listened as the words spilled out of his mouth, barely pausing for breath. She stared at him. She shifted in her chair. “Yours?” she echoed.

“Mine. In every way possible, but we can work those details out later. He grinned at her, and she felt desire pooling in her center. Did he mean…?

“Well, this is quite a lot to digest all at once, Sherlock. Most people start with a date. Dinner, or coffee, or…”

“Dating,” spat Sherlock. “Dating is a courtship ritual designed for two people to get to know each other. How much better could we possibly know each other? What would be gained by going through these channels? Molly..” he turned, sitting on the couch facing her, and reached his hands out to her. 

Molly scooted her chair closer to him, and held out her hands to him. He took them in his own, running his thumbs over the tops of her hands. “Molly, we’ve done all that. We’ve done all that for six years. Well, minus two. But you know what I mean.” He shook his head, irritated at himself for getting off track. “I want...I want more. And I realize I may have waited too long.”

Molly looked down at their hands, and then looked up and met Sherlock’s eyes. She held them for a moment, searching, wishing she could deduce him as easily as he deduced others. Did he mean it? The emotions she saw in his eyes told her he did, but this was Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock, if you’re not serious, if this is some sort of trick, you need to stop right now, or know that I will never, ever trust you again. I will never help you again, I will never speak to you again. Do not pull this shit on me. Right now, this is it. If you’re trying to pull something, you need to stop right now. Because I can’t deal with that, and it will break me, and I have forgiven you many, many things, but this will not be forgiven.”

Sherlock pulled her closer to him, the wheels of her chair spinning as he tugged the chair right up to the edge of the sofa, his legs bracketing hers. She loomed over him from this angle, and he looked up at her, never letting go of her hands.

“I would never. Not you, not ever. I’ve manipulated you for small things, I abused your crush on me to my advantage. But I never, ever crossed the line of breaking your heart, and I would never do that intentionally. I can’t say I’ll be perfect, I can’t say I won’t break your heart. But I would never, ever do that intentionally, Molly Hooper. Ever.”

Molly stared down at him. “I believe you.” she said in a low whisper, her eyes locked on his.

Sherlock smiled, one of the rare true smiles that went all the way up to his eyes, crinkling them in that way she loved so much, precisely because of how rare they were.

He gently pushed her chair back, then stood. Pulling her to her feet, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the edge of her mouth.

“Text me when you wake up this afternoon? I’ll come by.”

Molly nodded, wordlessly, and watched as he rewound his scarf around his neck and turned towards her door. 

“Oh, and Molly?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“I do love you, you know.”

He swept out of the door at that, leaving her staring at the door as it slowly closed in shock.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay on this one! Work, school and General Life have been conspiring against me for the last few months but at least now school is done for a bit.

The rest of Molly’s shift dragged on. She didn’t have anything to do, and no new bodies came in. It was a quiet night, after all. Sherlock’s arrival and subsequent announcements hadn’t changed that, although it had changed everything else. Molly’s mind spun at the possibilities. Finally, 5 o’clock arrived and Dr. Hastings stuck his head into her office to let her know he’d arrived. She gave him a quick rundown of the night shift, gathered up her bag, and made her way back to her flat.

She had no idea how she was supposed to sleep when Sherlock Holmes had announced he loved her, and that he was coming over this afternoon to… to what? She suspected she knew what, but it was all so sudden and overwhelming. She ran a hot bath and sank into it, scrubbing herself and preparing for what she assumed would be a very different afternoon with the consulting detective than any other she’d spent so far. Eventually she toweled off, put her hair into a plait, and slid into a pair of warm pyjamas. She crawled into bed and closed her eyes, eventually drifting off to thoughts of the feral look in Sherlock’s eyes, and the insinuated promises it held.

She woke around noon, which was earlier than she would normally wake up. However, she didn’t have to work until the following morning, so she’d get a full night’s sleep that night, so she wasn’t too worried about it. She got up and got dressed, unplaiting her hair and letting it fall in soft waves around her shoulders. While she could find many things to dislike about her body, her hair had always been one of her best features.

She set about filling the tea kettle, and then texted Sherlock that she was awake, and he could come over whenever was convenient for him. 

She was just stirring some sugar into her tea when her phone chirped, and he said he was about twenty minutes away, and he’d see her soon.

She put her phone down and stared into her tea for a long time, finally sipping at it as if it could fortify her for what was about to happen. She wasn’t sure there was anything on the planet that could prepare herself to receive Sherlock Holmes at her house after his early morning confessions, but tea always helped everything.

oOo

She was curled up on the sofa with Toby when Sherlock knocked on the door. As usual, Toby jumped up and fled into the other room at the noise. She stood and opened the door. Sherlock stood there, looking almost nervous.

“Sherlock, come in,” she said, stepping aside and letting the detective enter. He pulled off his scarf and coat and laid them over the back of the nearest chair, and Molly closed the door behind him. “I had planned to sleep longer but once I woke up there was no going back.” she said lamely.

“It’s fine, as long as you’ve had enough sleep. I never sleep much anyway these days.” He stepped towards her, reaching out and running a hand along the hair that cascaded over her shoulders. “I need to visit you at home more often, it would seem. Can’t really have your hair down at work, can you?”

Molly shook her head, gazing up at him. “No, it’s always in the way.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, lost in the moment of what-might-be, until finally Sherlock leaned down and dropped a gentle, chaste kiss onto Molly’s lips. He stood back up, then, watching her.

Molly stared up at him, unconsciously sticking her tongue out and licking her lips. Sherlock growled then, and swooped back down, capturing her mouth in a blistering kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. She opened her mouth for him and he greedily deepened the kiss, tasting and savoring a kiss that had been a long time coming.

When they finally came up for air, Sherlock grinned down at her. “Hi.” he said, lamely.

“Hi, Sherlock,” said Molly, looking up at him. “So you really meant all that? I wasn’t having late night hallucinations in the morgue from the chemicals?”

“I really meant it, Molly. I want to be with you.”

“Like, as my boyfriend?” said Molly, incredulously.

“As your lover, your partner, your significant other, and if you insist on using the term, yes, your boyfriend.” said Sherlock. “I meant what I said. I’ve wanted it for a long time, now. I was just afraid that dragging you into my life would put you into danger. Sadly, being my friend has put you into danger well enough already. And John, and Mary… so I might as well make us both happy and worry about any potential consequences when and if they become an issue.”

Molly took one of his hands in hers, staring down at it. “I don’t expect you to change, you know. I know what you’re like. Just...text me to let me know you’re okay when you’re gone on a case? Let me know if I’m doing anything wrong? Don’t get mad if I need reassurance more than you think I should?” She looked up at him, her big brown eyes scared.

“All of those things and more, Molly. This isn’t going to be easy for either of us, but I promise to always do my very best, as long as you’ll give me a kick in the ass when I mess up, so I know not to do it again.”

Molly smiled, “Trust me, I will not be shy in telling you when you’ve screwed up.” she laughed at this, and Sherlock grinned down at her. 

“I remember well,” he said, rubbing his face where she’d slapped him. 

“So…” said Molly, shifting from foot to foot. “Now what?”

“Well,” drawled Sherlock. “You have 18 hours before you have to be at work. I was rather hoping we could spend the majority of them together. Getting to know each other.”

Molly’s brows knitted in confusion. “But you said…” she trailed off, realization dawning. “Oh. OH!”

Sherlock smirked. “That was rather the idea, yeah.”

Blushing, Molly glanced toward her bedroom. Biting her lower lip, she looked back at Sherlock. “You’re not just putting me on? This isn’t some weird experiment where you need to have sex?”

“Molly,” said Sherlock patiently, “Even during the weeks I was fake-dating Janine, I never slept with her. Not once. There are lines even I won’t cross.”

He stepped toward her again, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for another kiss. This one was not as frantic as their last one, but sweet, and tender, and he poured every bit of pent up emotion he had for Molly Hooper into it, willing her to believe him when he said that he loved her, willing her to believe that he meant every word.

It worked, too, because when the kiss broke, she took him by the hand she’d been holding and dragged him off down the hall to her bedroom.

oOo

The paused only long enough for Molly to scoop up Toby and deposit him outside the bedroom door, closing it with an apologetic look. She turned back around to see Sherlock with his shirt half unbuttoned.

“No, let me,” she said, crossing the room and reaching her hands out to him. He dropped his hands to his sides and waited.

She knew he could feel her hands shaking as she finished the last few buttons. She tried to roll with it, though, slowly pulling the shirt out from his trousers and reaching for his hand to unbutton the cuffs. He presented his wrists to her and she unbuttoned them, eyes locked on what she was doing rather than meeting his eyes.

When she was done with the cuffs she reached up, her eyes finally meeting his, and pushed the shirt off of his shoulders. While she ran her fingers down his chest, pausing to explore the scar from his gunshot wound, he reached behind him and pulled the shirt off of his arms. His shirt made a soft whoosh as it hit the floor, and it brought her back to the present.

She smiled up at him, meeting his eyes again, and slowly moved her hands down to the clasp of his trousers. He watched her, mouth slightly parted, hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to touch her, he wanted to grab her and lead her to the bed and pour six years of longing and denying into ten minutes of frantic pleasure.

But then it would be over, and Sherlock wasn't sure he ever wanted this moment to be over. He would catalog it in his mind palace, yes. He would never forget one moment of this afternoon. But for once in his life, it was about the experience, not the cataloging. He clenched his fists and willed himself to let her be. 

He watched as she slowly unbuttoned the clasp, leaning over to place a small kiss on his breastbone as her hands moved to his zip. He was momentarily embarrassed by the prominent bulge that she worked the zip down and over, but a soft moan that escaped her lips banished those thoughts from his mind almost as soon as they’d formulated.

His trousers hit the ground as softly and smoothly as his shirt had, and she leaned back to give him room to step out of them.

He nudged them behind him to where his shirt was, and she leaned back into him, fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants. She lifted herself up onto her tiptoes, smiling up at him, and he took the hint and bent to kiss her, their tongues dancing as her fingers gently slid along his hips, her indecision and nervousness apparent.

Sherlock reached up this time, wrapping his hands around her head, carding his fingers through her waves as he kissed her. He pulled back enough to whisper “Molly,” against her lips.

Molly slowly pulled the boxer briefs off of his hips, moving them down to his thighs and then pushing until they, too, fell to his feet. She kissed him again, then stepped a full step back, letting her eyes roam up and down his body. He stood there, nervously, as she drank in the sight of him. When she’d had her fill, she slid up to him again, pressing her clothed body against his naked one, and placed a kiss on his neck. “Your turn,” she whispered.


End file.
